


Initiation

by cullenlovesmen (handersmyheart), McLavellan



Series: Initiation [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: (listen they all bottom here okay?), Abuse of Authority, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blindfolds, Blowjobs, Bottom Alistair, Bottom Carver, Bottom Cullen Rutherford, Double Penetration (alluded to), Dubious Consent, Endgame Cullen/Sebastian, Forced blowjobs, Gang Bang, Group Sex, Humiliation, M/M, Manhandling, POV Cullen Rutherford, Slapping, forced eating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-20
Updated: 2018-11-20
Packaged: 2019-08-26 17:39:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16686115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/handersmyheart/pseuds/cullenlovesmen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/McLavellan/pseuds/McLavellan
Summary: Cullen, Sebastian, Carver, Alistair, and Delrin are Templar recruits ready to undergo their vigil. What Cullen doesn't know is that the avowed members of the Order hold an initiation for the recruits under the guise of a party. What happens at this gathering that everyone but him seems to know of, but nobody speaks a word about?





	Initiation

**Author's Note:**

> Nobody gets raped here. Noncon is tagged because some elements of this story are well in dubcon territory. We promise that Cullen and the boys enjoyed everything they got!

Cullen shivered, arms twitching against the restraints, wanting to cover himself in his shame. He was naked, feet cold on the stone floor of the room. He could make out pinpricks of torchlight through the sack over his head, the occasional shadow moving before him. The sack itself was old and reminded him of home. The smell of damp and overuse.

_Come to the mess hall at midnight_ , Carver had said. _We’re gonna blow off some steam and everyone’s gonna be there_. 

He’d asked some questions and gotten a vague idea of what was to be expected. He should have been as appalled as he’d acted, but something about the concept had evoked a reaction he couldn’t fully suppress. He had declined the offer firmly - because _of course_ he had - but his stubborn feet had lead him downstairs as if by their own volition while sordid curiosity rolled in his stomach. He was a pious man, sure, but blood ran red inside his young body and he needed _something_ \- something that the Chant alone couldn’t quite sate. 

This was not what he had prepared for when Carver told him about the party. He had expected to see some stealthy handjobs exchanged in dark corners, perhaps catch a glimpse of a blowjob if he was really lucky. Getting torn out of his clothes, sight robbed by a rough sack over his head, hands tied behind his back… it had thrown him by surprise, but here he still was. Not struggling, not even planning for an escape. This far surpassed his expectations, if he was being honest. He wasn’t sure if he dared such admissions to himself, but he couldn’t quite deny that the tremble of his limbs and the tension at the bottom of his stomach weren’t entirely caused by fear.

They'd grabbed the recruits simultaneously - Cullen himself included - as soon as all participants had gathered in the hall, throwing sacks over their heads, wrestling them, stripping them and binding their hands. They'd been made to walk past the leering crowd of older Knights - to the kitchens perhaps? - and then lined up, before being struck with something. Thicker than a belt - he knew that pain already - but something flatter, harder. 

There was a sharp slap sound to the left, followed by a small, half swallowed shriek. Another slap, closer - a gasp this time. Slap, a curse, and then there was a hand on his back, pushing him forward a little. And the sound of the slap seemed to come after the red hot pain in his buttocks, the gasp caught in his throat. Footsteps moved to the right and he thought he was free for the moment, thought the twitch in his cock would go unnoticed. 

He gasped, fully audible this time, and stumbled back a little when something touched him. He thought he recognised the snort of laughter. One of the older men. 

He almost jumped at the moan that came from the last of the new recruits to be struck - Carver’s voice, he realised, his eyes going wide. The sheer arousal of the sound raised the hair at the back of his neck, his heartbeat thrumming in his ears. It took him all he had to regain his composure - not that anyone could see how flushed he was, but he needed something to hold onto. His self-control was a trait he had always prided himself on, and at that moment it was all he had left. Dignity had been thrown in the garbage once he’d joined the party, modesty had been stripped from him along with his clothes, piety couldn’t be summoned while his cock grew harder despite the situation - or _because_ of it.

"Got a live one," a templar laughed. The voice was muffled, but not just by the sack - it had an echo that could come only from a helmet. He twitched again and a hand brushed his navel, a little sound escaping him as he pulled away from the touch.

"Two if you count this one. Not quite as loud... Might need some encouragement. Bring him over."

Cullen felt his skin tingle from head to toe in fearful, aroused anticipation he could hardly begin to explain. There was movement, a grunt in front of him as someone dropped to their knees. Material shifting.

"Blindfold him."

A calloused hand snaked its way under the sack and covered his eyes. Someone pulled the sack away, his hot cheeks meeting the cool air of the room. His hair fell on his forehead, disarranged curls sticking to his clammy skin. Soft fabric was tugged around his head, an appreciative huff as he arched at the touch. He managed a glimpse at a dark-haired form crouched in front of him before the velvet cloth covered his eyes. Suddenly warm lips enveloped the head of his cock and Cullen’s knees buckled. Arms took him, holding him up and he tried to pull away - he wanted it so much, but a large part of him objected to being so vulnerable and obvious. 

Who was watching him? How many people were there in this room? Who else was blindfolded and tied up besides himself? Whose arms were wrapped around his torso? Whose lips were those, seeking the evidence of his shameful response to this treatment? 

A hot tear fell down his cheek and he let out a whimper. He’d never felt this ashamed in his whole life - nor this excited. He shouldn’t be into this, shouldn’t be growing harder when he was helpless and exposed, observed by these nameless and faceless men.

The templars hushed him, locked arms and legs with him, held him still while the other recruit took him in his mouth again and sucked hungrily. Cullen swore, felt his hips jerk forward, and he was pulled away, dropped to the ground.

"Maker, these new guys are hungry."

"Whores," came another voice.

Someone tried to run, the slap of his feet on the ground giving him away. A cry sounded as he fell, the ruffle of a struggle as he was caught. Begging, a familiar voice that Cullen couldn’t quite name.

“Please, please,” the escapee continued, intelligible this time, “Let me go, I can’t do this!”

Sebastian. There was no mistaking that voice, even if the desperate tone was unfamiliar to him. 

“Right. Leave, then. Anyone else a pussy that wants to run away in fear?” 

The muted footsteps of just two people resonated in the quiet room. A door opened and then closed. Cullen stood in awe of himself, feet firmly rooted on the floor.

\---

With the unwilling recruits gone, Maker knew where, the rest were slapped and fondled and pushed into position. Cullen’s blindfold slipped from its position during the manhandling and he saw Alistair in one corner, covered in dirt, a templar holding his head back and force feeding him chunks of cheese, pressing it against his face, wrenching it into his mouth, smearing his chest with the crumbling, broken parts. Meanwhile, another nameless recruit sucked him off while a hooded templar fingered him open. It was perverse.

Another blindfolded recruit - Carver! - was already being fucked, grunting and swearing and eager for it. Cullen watched in shock, wondering if this was something Carver was used to, the man’s body squirming in obvious pleasure as he was taken roughly from behind. 

The thought vanished as Cullen was pulled back and slammed onto a table, arms restrained, then legs, as another of the masked templars stood in front of him and spat at his hole, pressing a finger into him, down to the knuckle. Cullen pulled against the arms holding him and his head was yanked back suddenly, fingers invading his mouth, keeping it open and welcoming as a templar slid his cock in, hitting the back of his throat. He choked, gagged, and the hold eased out just a little.

He tried hard not to buck into the slick finger - probably couldn’t even if he wanted to - and tried to summon the disgust he ought to have felt at what he had managed to see from behind the crooked cloth, at what was being done to him at that very moment. But he couldn’t quite keep his head straight. Not with the merciless cock sliding in and out of his mouth, not with the strange but pleasant sensation of the digits breaching him. He couldn’t breathe, but it was all the same to him, since at least he couldn’t give into the desire to moan and plead.

\---

The table was hard against his back, the back of his head pressed down against its edge, aching, and his mouth held open, used for another's pleasure. The wood scraped his elbows as he was held in place, the pain of it irritating. The intrusive finger pressed inside of him, pushing, curling, as if seeking something. He moaned around the cock unwittingly, almost choking again, saliva building in his mouth, his nose pressing against soft flesh, face flushed from the lack of oxygen. But that finger moved again, and another one joined it. A jolt of pleasure ran through him suddenly and he let out a strained whimper, wriggling against the hands constraining him, wanting the digits deeper. Shamefully, he wanted more of whatever that was.

The cold metal of a helmet came to rest against his heated cheek, a whispered voice telling him they could stop. He only needed to say the word and they'll stop. He could be saved from this shame. This humiliation could end whenever he wanted it to.

"St-stop," Cullen stammered, having turned his head, freeing his mouth more easily than he expected. The relentless stimuli came to a halt. The hands holding him down pulled away, the fingers breaching him withdrew, and nobody touched him aside from the one man between his legs that had held his thighs down. Even he lightened his touch, slowly releasing the pressure. Someone grabbed a hold of his blindfold, lifting it to his forehead.

"If you're sure." The man next to his head slowly lifted his hands, giving Cullen's erection one last lazy stroke - no pressure applied, just sending out a message. The man withdrew, standing up behind Cullen, waiting. Carver’s grunts near him drifted back into his consciousness, the raw lust of the sound penetrating his mind for a mere moment. _That could be me. If I’m patient and cooperate, that will be me._

"W-wait," he stuttered unintelligibly, clearing his throat to get his voice back. “Wait!”

That caught the attention of the man behind him, and he watched Cullen silently for a moment. "Nobody will ever speak of this night again," he offered, his tone serious and strangely convincing. “You are safe with us. We’re all in the same boat here, I assure you. Just say the word and we’ll take care of you. If you want to leave, you can do that too. No matter what’s going on, just say you want to stop and we will.”

Cullen turned his head, seeing Carver taking two masked men. Another new recruit, Delrin, was on his knees surrounded by templars. Alistair was on all fours on the cold hard floor still, a collar around his neck chaining him down, orders being barked to eat, to keep eating while he was fucked from behind. 

Sebastian was nowhere to be seen. The older templars had kept their word when they had let him go, Cullen realised. A flash of concern went through him - was Sebastian back in the dorms, was he safe? But his friend slipped from his mind as soon as he caught a glance of the templar before him - the man whose fingers had been inside of him - stripped bare from waist down, his cock oiled and all ready for him. 

Letting his arms and head ease back onto the table, he accepted the situation in his head. The shame didn't lessen, but the fear did. The templars all wore their helmets, all anonymous, and the new recruits were all here willingly, he finally understood. There was no real leverage for blackmail. No need for gossip or rumours. He could have this, and if he found he didn’t want it, he could drop out.

“Alright. Alright. Yes,” he managed, his voice shot but intelligible. 

The templar in front of him lifted his mouth guard and pushed Cullen's legs back, spitting at his hole again, spreading the slick around him in breathtaking circles before sliding his fingers back inside. The man behind him lowered the blindfold back in its place and Cullen's arms were held down again, his mouth filled by the cock of another templar. He couldn’t quite keep up the count in his head of how many people were employed by him, whose hands were the ones restraining him and whose were caressing his stomach. The strange game continued, transporting him to another realm where he wasn’t the best recruit of his garrison, but a toy for the Knights to play with.

"How many do we have here?" he heard a templar ask, the sound distant in his dream-like sensory overload daze. It was followed by counting. "10 left. Think he can take ten?"

"Let's find out," another voice said, stroking his thigh, sliding his fingers free. Without a warning, he thrust his cock into Cullen, stealing his breath away.

"Keep him down," the templar ordered. "I doubt this little slut wants to go anywhere but this," he took Cullen's hardening dick in his hand, "is off limits." Still rolling his hips, he attached a tight metal ring around the base. It was cold against his sensitive skin, merciless and unforgiving. "No touching, no release." Holding on to Cullen again, he pounded harder. "The rest of you! No coming until it's your turn with this pretty one. Dirtier than a back alley, and ready to be filled.”

Cullen's body rocked helplessly on the table, neck aching as his head drooped off the edge. He tried lifting it to see the man fucking him but it was too heavy, too unsteady. He groaned, feeling hands all over him, the templar rutting carelessly inside of him, filling him too much and too soon. The pain he felt was left second only to the pleasure, the feeling of being claimed and utterly at his mercy. He couldn’t move, couldn’t come - all he could do was to allow it to happen, to be taken like a mabari bitch while the man treated him as though he actually was one. It gave him inexplicable satisfaction to just let go, to just accept what was given to him.

Suddenly the templar jerked hard, crying out, and spilled inside of him. He rested only for a few breaths, Cullen wincing at the tight pain in his dick, the need to touch it, to find his own release. Instead, he was swung around on the length of the table, able to rest his head now. But there was little time for relief. He heard the templars switching positions quickly around the desk, a new one taking him, bigger, stretching him a little more. Around him he heard the others fucking, moaning, begging, the harsh slapping of skin on skin resounding in the cold kitchen.

Cullen tried to pull away, just to get a feel of the restraint and to put up a token protest, the danger and thrill of being held down and forced to take these men egging him on and encouraging him to seek punishment. Each coming inside of him and roughing him up - slapping his body, pinching his nipples, twisting his sensitive skin, giving featherlight touches to his desperate cock, the pressure of the metal ring too tight for him to overcome. 

He was used again and again by the templars, too out of it to keep count of every man that entered and shot his load in him. They rotated through the recruits, always saving their release for him. The blindfold was ripped from his eyes for the last templar - or perhaps it was the first again, back for more. He turned his head and saw Delrin, a cock in each hand, another in his mouth as sweat ran down his muscled arms. The templar that had fucked Cullen last grabbed Carver by the hair, making him lick his cock clean with his tongue. A shudder ran down Cullen’s spine at the sight as he realised how intimately his friend now knew his taste.

He was distracted from such thoughts as a templar spat on his face, his spit mixing with the tears and sweat. “You like that one?” The man gestured at Carver. Cullen scrunched his eyes shut, tuning out the words he was unequipped to answer, focusing on what he was feeling instead.

He ached all over, the pain a pleasant thrum resonating from every inch of him, his cock desperate with the need to come, his mind horrified for allowing this abuse and welcoming it so willingly. How badly he hoped that the feeling would linger for days to come, how terribly he ached to feel the reminder of this night on his used body. Shame burned inside of his soul, but he couldn’t blush any harder. This was the ultimate humiliation - it couldn’t get worse than this. The ring around him tightened as more blood rushed southwards.

"Last one," the first templar said, standing close and stroking his sweat-slick curls gently. He reached across Cullen, nimbly removing the metal ring and releasing his dick. The man turned his attention away from him, looking at Carver on the table nearest to them. "Hey you, you hungry little bitch. Get in here."

Cullen watched with glassy eyes as Carver’s tall form hovered above him, suddenly ducking his head and taking Cullen into his mouth. Cullen gasped, the last templar simultaneously entering him with no resistance, slipping easily into the hot, dripping wet mess between his legs. Unable to even muster the strength to thrust up, Cullen felt tears pool in his eyes once more, a relieved sigh escaping him as Carver sucked and licked, taking him in wholly and bobbing his head in a most gratifying rhythm. He felt himself floating, as if lost at sea at the mercy of waves, nothing but sensation washing over his body as his mind drifted off further away, no longer forming thoughts nor moralising him under the onslaught.

But the templar came first, and Carver was abruptly shoved away, sent scrambling for balance as his body collided with a chair. 

Cullen sat up in shock, rudely yanked away from his pleasurable state. Hot, thick come slid down his legs - a degrading reminder of what exactly had passed, his shame returning to him with each droplet of the liquid pooling on the table. Before he had time to recover, his arms were brusquely forced behind his back and tied together. Two templars dragged him to the next room and dropped him outside of it, leaving him on his own as they closed the door behind them without ceremony. 

He was out in the hall now where anyone could see him. Weak and exhausted, he sat collapsed on the cold stone floor, his head drooping and reality creeping back in. The hall was empty now, but evidence of the party could still be seen - some stools were knocked over, pints littering the long tables, the stench of ale in the air. Maker, he was glad to be alone. Steeling himself, he struggled to his feet, his limbs shaking precariously under him, and staggered and stumbled back to their dorm. 

\---

A single candle was lit, Sebastian sat in bed, jaw dropping when he caught sight of Cullen.

"Maker! What happened?"

"Please," Cullen begged, trying in vain to squirm free of the ropes holding his arms together. " _Please_."

He'd expected his hands to be untied but Sebastian eased him onto his bed and knelt between his legs. He hesitated, his hands trembling on Cullen’s thighs as his eyes searched him, as if seeking permission. Something he saw on Cullen’s face must have been what he needed, for he spurred into action and crouched his body lower. His soft lips found Cullen's aching dick, gently nibbling at the base, his hot breaths as much a caress as the swipes of his tongue. It was nothing like what had happened at the room - Sebastian’s licks and teases were unhurried and untrained, but careful and reverent. 

It didn’t take much to overwhelm Cullen in the state that he was in. He twitched and came with a cry within moments, more ashamed of himself now than he’d been while spread out on a table for the senior templars to poke and prod. He apologised breathlessly, but Sebastian straightened his back with a small smile on his face, kissing Cullen softly as he reached around to untie him. Cullen's arms dropped to his sides but reached to wrap around the man before he could move away. He pulled the man against him, drawing him on top of him, exhausted and used and more content than he'd felt in ages.

Sebastian relaxed in his arms slowly, tumbling down to his side and burying his head in the crook of Cullen’s neck, his breaths slowing down and deepening, well on his way to joining Cullen in his strange haze. His hand came to stroke Cullen’s jaw, delicate fingers touching his skin lightly, tracing the stubble to his chin, ever so slow and careful. He drew in a breath as if about to say something, but evidently thought the better of it, heaving out a contented sigh against Cullen’s neck instead.

Suddenly footsteps echoed in the hallway, followed by rambunctious laughter right outside of their door. Sebastian shot up as if electrified, pushing Cullen back onto the bed, throwing a blanket on top of him and slipping between his own linens. The candle on the night table between their beds was left burning, its flickering flame the only thing to suggest there had been movement, the gentle light illuminating Sebastian’s beautiful features as he feigned slumber. 

Cullen closed his eyes just before the door opened to let their fellow recruits in. The darkness behind his eyelids was tempting, far too inviting, and he decided that the time to analyse today’s events would come later. His body went limp as he allowed himself to relax, sinking into the uncomfortable mattress like a great pile of jelly.

"Sodding hell," Carver breathed, the sound of his steps sluggish. "Think we'll get that again?"

"Maybe when there are new recruits," Delrin mused.

"Is it weird that I still want cheese? I'm hungry."

There was silence, then laughter, and finally the three of them settled to their beds.

Once the soft snores began, Carver climbed quietly out of his bunk to Cullen's side, nudging him gently. “Hey, you awake? Want me to finish you off?”

But Cullen was fast asleep.


End file.
